


Stuck Santa

by laughingacademy



Category: RPF - Mythbusters
Genre: Gen, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/pseuds/laughingacademy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You just want to put Santa hats on two dead pigs."</p><p>"True, but that's beside the point."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck Santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadisticferret](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sadisticferret).



Grant and Tory were outside M7, pawing at their faces and sneezing, when Kari stomped into the sunlight, trailing wisps of smoke. "Lunch?"

"Lunch," Grant concurred, left eyebrow rising, as Tory, his brows heading downward, noted, "Hey, you're a bit (choo!) singed."

"Had a little welding accident, no permanent damage — I should've asked Scottie for a hand."

"I think she's (sniff) already in the break room," Grant said, falling in behind them.

"What happened to you guys?"

"Burst a canister of black pepper," Tory muttered through the paper towel he was using to wipe his nose. "Man, I need a drink."

Grant shrugged. "At least we had the goggles on."

Scottie was already eating when they arrived at the room in M5 set aside for meals. She waved as her co-workers pulled food and soda from the refrigerator and chose seats.

"Are we expecting Jamie and Adam?" asked Kari, between bites of veggie wrap.

Scottie shook her head and swallowed. "Nah. Adam's on a supply run, and Jamie's got an appointment with some guy about a remote-controlled aquarium."

Grant's eyebrows were getting a workout today. "A remote-controlled...?"

"Don't ask me, I just work here. Hey, I was watching movies over the weekend and got an idea for a new Christmas myth."

The others, who were all chewing, made inquisitive noises.

"Ahem...'The worst thing that ever happened to me was on Christmas...I was nine years old. Me and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work.'"

Tory choked and hastily put down his soda can. Scottie winked at him and continued, "'A couple hours went by. Dad wasn't home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That's when I noticed the smell.'"

"Oh, no way," Kari said, beginning to giggle. Grant was shaking his head, smiling.

"'The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird, and instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He'd been climbing down the chimney, his arms loaded with presents. He was going to surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that's how I found out there was no Santa Claus.'"

Tory clapped. "Bravo! Phoebe Cates rides again."

"Very impressive," chimed in Kari.

"You know," Grant said, "I would have just turned up the thermostat."

Tory slapped the back of his head and Grant reciprocated as Kari pushed back her chair. "Hang on, I think this is in one of the Brunvand books."

The slap fight was winding down when she returned with a well-thumbed paperback. "Here we go...Dad decides to dress up as Santa Claus and surprise his family, gets stuck in the chimney, and dies of asphyxiation. Later that night the family lights the Yule log, and whoops, smoked dead Santa!"

Looking thoughtful, Tory said, "So we have two different causes of death: a broken neck, and suffocation."

"Is suffocating the same thing as asphyxiating?" asked Kari.

"I think the first causes the second. You can't breathe — suffocation — so you don't get enough oxygen — asphyxiation — which kills you."

"Okay," Grant said, flattening a napkin and clicking his ballpoint pen, "let's break it down. Step one, getting the body into the chimney."

Scottie raised a hand. "Problem. Chimneys have screens and caps on top to keep things from getting in."

"Well, let's assume that the top of the chimney is open, or that our Santa removes any obstacles before he starts the climb down," Kari said.

"How big is a chimney?" Tory wondered aloud. "I mean what you'd find in your average suburban or small-town home, not a factory smokestack or one of those castle fireplaces you could roast a spitted boar in."

"We'll have to find someone with a chimney they'll let us measure. Maybe hit the yellow pages and look up builders, sweeps," suggested Scottie.

"Step two," Grant said, writing. "Simulate a chimney descent ending in fatal injury, either (a) broken neck or (b) constriction."

Kari hmmed. "A broken neck seems more likely. If Fake Santa just got stuck, he could yell for help. It's not like the house is empty — the whole point is for the kids to see `Father Christmas' coming out of the fireplace with their presents."

"But he wouldn't be able get enough air to yell," said Scottie.

Tory nodded. "Right. Can't breathe, can't shout."

"He could still kick," Kari argued.

"How quickly would he pass out?" Grant asked.

Everyone stared at a different corner of the room and frowned for a few seconds.

"We can look that up, or maybe ask some EMT guys, or firefighters. Okay, that leaves step three, discovery of the body. Smell seems to be the key there, either from roasting or decomposition."

Kari made gagging noises. "Oh, man. Not more pigs, please."

Scottie grinned. "I don't think it can be helped, Kari."

"C'mon," Tory wheedled, "we have to do this right!"

Kari snorted. "You just want to put Santa hats on two dead pigs."

"True, but that's beside the point."

Grant cocked his head. "Would it really be any worse than the time we put pirate hats on six dead pigs and shot them with cannonballs?"

Tory sighed. "Actually, she may have a point. This one may be too perverse for Discovery."

A wide-brimmed hat landed on the table as a voice said, "Too perverse? I'm intrigued."

Kari twisted in her chair. "Oh, hey, Adam. We were just talking over an idea Scottie had for a new Christmas myth."

Adam scanned Grant's napkin and nodded. "Ah, the dead Santa story from _Gremlins_. Could be fun. We would have to be careful not to make it too tasteless." He looked around, eyebrows waggling. "Of course, the real problem with this myth is —"

**"— no boom,"** chorused the rest of the room.

"You know," Grant said slowly, "as long as we're doing Christmas movie myths..."

* * *

Jamie adjusted his beret as Adam sped back on his Segway, Santa hat streaming out behind him. The hat remained parallel to the ground when he dismounted, thanks to the wire reinforcement in the peak.

"Everything's ready. You will believe a sleigh can fly!"

"Okay. Lawn ornament sleigh launch, first attempt, in three! Two! One!"


End file.
